


A Matter of Life and Death

by no_dang_idea



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I swear i love my bois, Sad Ending, Stop reading if you don't want them, Teenagers, Virgil's dad is Death, no happy ending, spoilers in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:06:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_dang_idea/pseuds/no_dang_idea
Summary: This was originally a story I wrote for class, but I changed it to make it prinxiety





	A Matter of Life and Death

Death put away his scythe and swept across the floor silently towards the figure collapsed on the ground, a young woman this time. He cupped her crying soul in his hands and turned to go. No point in staying any longer.

“…Mom?”

He glanced back over his shoulder.

A small child, a boy with overalls and a blanket, shuffled towards the now empty body on the floor. “Mom, why are you sleeping in the living room?” he asked, curious and oblivious. It really is too bad, Death mused. Now his father would have to explain to this little one what dying is…

Was there a father? Death looked around the room and saw many pictures of a smiling boy and a laughing mother, but nobody else. How sad.

“Mom, can we play a game? Wake up.” He sat next to the corpse and shook its shoulder gently.

Normally, he would have just left, but something tugged at Death’s… heart? He didn’t really have one, but that analogy works, he supposed. He made himself visible. “Excuse me, young one…”

The boy looked up. “Hi!” he said happily, young enough to be unfazed and unafraid. “I’m Virgil. Why are you here?”

“I am Death,” he replied softly, “and I am here to… visit your mother.”

“Well, he’s asleep right now, so you can talk to me.” The boy—Virgil—patted the floor beside himself.

Death stayed standing. “Tell me Virgil, do you have anyone other than your mother?”

Virgil tilted his head. “Huh?”

“Do you have a dad?” Death asked. “A close aunt or uncle?”

Virgil shook his head. “Nope. I have a Gramma, though. Me and Mom go visit her at her home sometimes.”

Death sat next to him. “Would you like to live with your Gramma?”

“No,” Virgil said resolutely. “There are too many people there. Mark’s nice, though. He always gives me candy when we sign out.”

Oh.  _ We go visit her at her home. _

Poor child was an orphan now, with no close family to take him in. Sad indeed, but that’s how life goes for them. It’s not like there was anything he could do, right? He couldn’t just take him in himself…

“When Mom wakes up, you can play a game with us!” Virgil said cheerfully, patting the corpse’s shoulder.

Death felt another tug at the more human part of his being. “Virgil… your mom isn’t going to wake up.”

“Yes she is,” Virgil replied. “People don’t sleep forever.”

“Sometimes they do,” Death said quietly. He stood up and held out his hand. “Will you come with me, and I can explain?”

҉

Virgil grows up helping Death, who he starts to think of as his dad, and chatting with souls. They remember their past lives, and Virgil eagerly asks each for their favourite memory. At the age of ten—or thereabouts, time is difficult to measure in limbo—he starts going on some of Death’s collections with him. He learns how to hold onto a soul that’s been separated from the body it used to belong to. Virgil’s father teaches him how to recognize souls that must be taken, that are ready to be taken, and shows him how it truly is a kindness. He teaches him to comfort the ones that cry, that scream, that beg for more time, instead of just ignoring their sadness as he reaps them. He cradles their essence close to his heart and murmurs softly to them.

Death’s present to a teenaged Virgil is not a car like many human parents, but a knife, made the same way as his scythe. He gets a similar speech on responsibility, though, and he nods eagerly, twisting the blade in the light to watch its colours shift. After he’s sure that he understands, Death starts sending him to collect souls on his own sometimes.

Virgil always comes back right away, carrying a shining soul with him. He doesn’t linger in the living world, because why would he? Virgil doesn’t even really talk about the living world with his father, until one day he approaches Death with his head high and his hands shaking slightly.

“Dad, there’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he says, in a voice that sounds like he’s practiced these specific words before. “I like it here, I do, and I enjoy talking to the souls before they go on, but they’re like shadows, or imaginary friends. I haven’t ever had a real friend. So I was thinking that I could start spending some time in the living world, instead of being in limbo with you whenever I’m not collecting. I believe that what I’m asking is reasonable and that I’m responsible enough—”

Death waves his hand, his robes sweeping with the motion. “Yes, of course, Virgil. Honestly, I’m surprised that you hadn’t asked me sooner. It seems perfectly reasonable to me as well. All I’d ask is that you only take your knife if you’re collecting a soul, and otherwise leave it with me.”

Virgil nods, slightly taken aback. “Right, of course.” He takes out his knife and hands it to him. “…Is it okay if I…?”

“Yes, go on. Make some human friends, do something kind of stupid, be a human teenager.” He pockets the knife and shoos him away.

“Thanks, Dad.” He gives him a quick hug.

҉

“Remy!”

Virgil is knocked off his feet when something tackles him with a large amount of force. He shrieks and catches himself before he smacks his face against the pavement.

“What’s—oh god, you’re not Remy. I’m so sorry!” The boy standing over Virgil—presumably the one that just bowled him over—holds out his hand. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine…” He takes the hand and stands up. “And no, I’m not Remy, I’m Virgil.”

“Cool, I’m Roman.” He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry for attacking you, you look a lot like my friend Remy.” He gestures at Virgil’s black, ripped jeans, hoodie, and dark hair. “You both kinda have the whole dark, edgy thing going on.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil says with a smile.

“Well, let me apologize by buying you lunch. I was going to McDonald's, come with?” Roman offers.

“Alright.” Virgil falls in step next to Roman and they head off.

Although he only intends to go for lunch, Virgil ends up spending the entire afternoon with him. They sit and talk until Roman hears that Virgil hasn’t climbed a tree before, then he drags him down to a park, insisting that it is an essential thing to do at least once. He urges Virgil up a large tree, climbing just above him, and they watch the sunset until Roman says he has to go home. Virgil still has a smile on his face when he returns to limbo, something that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Death mentions. “How was your day?”

“It was great,” Virgil says. “I’m pretty sure I made my first friend. His name’s Roman and he’s eighteen. We’re going to hang out again on Friday.”

“Just don’t lose track of time and forget, Virge. You know how that happens here.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he says quickly. “In fact, I can’t wait for Friday to come! He’s going to introduce me to a few friends, and we’re going to see a movie that Roman says he’s been waiting to see for ages…”

҉

After that, Virgil often disappears into the human world to visit Roman. When he comes back to limbo, he talks to his father and any souls that haven't moved on yet all about his best friend. As time moves on, Death notices Virgil leaving more frequently and returning with a smile on his face, giggling over a joke Roman told him or humming a tune under his breath, saying “he showed me this song. I think it's my new favourite.” One day he comes back with his whole face lit up, and he keeps absentmindedly touching his lips. Whenever Roman’s name leaves his lips, his smile widens.

The next day, Virgil doesn’t come back for hours after going out to reap a soul.

“Virgil, what took you so long?” Death asks when he finally returns. “It usually takes you barely any time to collect a soul and make it back home”

He bites his lip. “I might have stopped to visit Roman...”

Death holds out his hand for Virgil’s knife. “You’ve always been so good about bringing   
souls home, Virgil... Is Roman a bad influence on you?”

“No! It’s me, I wanted to stop and see him, I missed him. I'm sorry, it won't happen again, Dad.” He gives him his knife. “I promise.”

҉

Roman laughs softly and shakes his head. “How long have we known each other, like four months? Virge, where have you been all my life?” He sighs when the light turns green and starts to cross. “You are honestly my—”

The next five seconds are somehow both an indistinguishable jumble and burned into Virgil’s head forever.

The car whirls around the corner so quickly Roman hardly has time to turn his head. There’s a high-pitched screeching, a barely-there gasp, and a thud, and Roman flies.

Virgil screams and sprints over to Roman, kneeling next to him. “Roman, oh god, are you okay?” He cradles him in his arms. “You!” he says, pointing to a shocked pedestrian who had stopped at the commotion. “Call 911, now!” Virgil turns back to the broken figure in front of him, ignoring the slowly growing crowd of rubberneckers, and asks softly, “Roman, are you okay? You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe. Open your eyes. Come back. It’s okay, you’re okay. Wake up. Please wake up. Don’t… don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me. I love you so much. Come back.” He slightly shakes the body in his arms. “You don’t… you don’t need to go yet… I want you here. Dad won’t… he can’t…” Virgil looks up. “…Dad, no!”

Death stands over the two of them. “You know that everyone has a time. This is his, his soul needs to move on. You know this.”

“No!” Virgil shrieks, holding Roman close. “No, it’s not his time yet! He’s fine, he’ll be fine! No, he’s okay, he’ll be okay, he’ll wake up!” Tears brim in his eyes. “D-don’t come any closer, don’t touch him! He isn’t going to die!” A faint wailing starts to grow from nothing in the distance. “Dad, I need him…” Virgil whispers.

“Virgil, look at his soul,” Death says gently. “Look at it, really look. He’s not going to recover from this, he’s in pain. He’ll be in pain until he—”

“He isn’t going to die!” he yells. The wail of a siren grows louder. “He isn’t…”

Death kneels next to where Virgil clutches the limp body. “He is,” he says. “He’ll either die on the operation table, or in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, or here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do about it, because sometimes there is no solution. Life leads to death.”

Virgil looks down. “Do it, then,” he whispers. “If he really needs to go, do it.”

Death nods and pulls out, instead of his scythe, Virgil’s little knife. “Just look at his face,” he says quietly. “After this, you can say a proper goodbye to him.”

Virgil stares at Roman’s face, watching small dots of water land there. When did it start raining, he wondered? It had been such a sunny day…

“Virgil.” Death brushes a tear from his cheek and gently places the soul in his hands.

He cups his hands around the soul and gazes into it. It looks just about the same as every other one he’s held; bright without shining, colourful without containing any colours he could name, neither solid, liquid, or gas. Virgil knows it’s different, though. He can feel Roman’s laugh, he can see his eyes in the colourless rainbow he holds. The soul cries quietly.

“I’m going to miss you…” Virgil mumbles. “So much.”

_ What’s going on, I could have been okay!  _ Anger, fear, and sadness, swirled together.

“…No. Dad is right, every soul has a time when it needs to be taken.” Virgil tries to swallow around the lump forming in his throat. “I just wish you’d had more time.” He gently kisses the truest part of Roman goodbye and hands the soul back to Death.

“Take as much or as little time as you need. You know where I’ll be.” He disappears.

The ambulance rounds the corner. Virgil sobs and cradles the corpse in his arms as the paramedics surround him. “He’s dead,” he cries, holding tighter. “You can’t do anything for him.” They take the body from him anyway and wrap a blanket around his shoulders. Virgil hears them talking to him without listening, only absorbing a handful of words— _ shock—license—impact—fracture—loss—name? _

_ Name? _

“Sir? What’s your name?”

He blinks, tears rolling down his face. “Virgil,” he says tonelessly, squinting against the sun. It is still sunny, it hadn’t been raining at all. How can it be sunny? How can the sun dare shine when Roman is gone?

“So his name was Roman?” the paramedic—passerby?—person that doesn’t matter, who matters anymore? Roman mattered, but Roman is dead… “The boy that got hit?”

“Roman Prince,” Virgil whispers. “Eighteen years old. His favourite food is pasta and he doesn’t like milk.” Tears clog his throat. “He has a mother and a father and an uncle and an obnoxious kid brother. Who’s going to tell them? How?” He knows he’s getting louder, but he can’t stop. “Are they about to get a phone call? Pick it up and have their world come crashing around them?” Virgil throws the blanket down and runs.

He runs away from the flashing lights, away from the concerned face, away from that block, that street. He runs past people and into a park, the park Roman had taken him to when he learned Virgil had never climbed a tree, that very first day. He collapses at the base of the tree Roman had dragged him to, led him up, until they sat high above the ground. Virgil looks up into the branches, trying to pinpoint the exact spot they had perched, him clinging to Roman’s arm for balance.

Now, when he so desperately wants that balance, Roman isn’t there, and Virgil is falling.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry but it's angst time again :)  
> I'm still world building something new but hopefully it will be up sometime soon-ish


End file.
